


far from lonely (ghosts are company)

by notveryhandy



Series: Welcome to the Deathverse [4]
Category: Doctor Who
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-09
Updated: 2020-07-09
Packaged: 2021-03-03 22:54:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,141
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24893470
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notveryhandy/pseuds/notveryhandy
Summary: logically, it's thursday.(morally, it's november.)
Series: Welcome to the Deathverse [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1802461
Kudos: 2





	far from lonely (ghosts are company)

**Author's Note:**

> the confusing sort-of magic sort-of human au nobody asked for.

_logically it's thursday, and_

_gallifrey is angry. screaming screaming screaming, lovely._

_backing track for these nightmares._

_she twists. she_

_turns. logically,_

_it's thursday._

* * *

Romana wakes up. It's not Thursday. It's just life. The door creaks open, as it always does. It's always done that, even on Thursdays. Especially on Thursdays. The door creaks back closed again, and it does that. That's normal too. There's nothing strange going on here, no elaborate trick nor secret cunning plan to depose her.

Hang on. _Depose?_ She's no king, no politician. You can't depose an ordinary person.

Well. You can. It's called murder. 

She opens the door again, blinking the sleep out her eyes. Yes, sleep. Like an ordinary person, and not somebody born in a whole different world. Though she slept restlessly, she's only somewhat tired.

Rest is for the weary.

She sighs, throwing clothes on haphazardly. Reaching for a necklace, all gold chains and circles.

Sleep is for the dead.

* * *

_"in theory, romana-"_

_in theory does not work._

_"-we could send you to earth."_

_or-_

_"no buts, romana."_

_no choice, basically._

* * *

The stars are bright-

And it's the middle of the day, where did that thought come from?

"Hey! Fred!" Fred? Romana shakes her head, brushing the comment off, and then it occurs to her. Yes, Fred.

Funny. For a minute there, she forgot who she was.

Fred turns around, and grins back at the neigbour. Or Romana does, same thing really. They remind her of Ace-

Ace? Who's Ace? Ah, never mind. Fred, and that's enough.

Or Romana, but that one's _not_ enough and she doesn't want to know why.

* * *

_this is the lesser of all the evils_

_not the two evils_

_there's far more than that. just_

_the easiest option, far from_

_the best, the ideal. how many_

_nimons_

_have you seen today?_

* * *

"How many Nimons?" Fred blurts out in the middle of an office meeting. They stare at her. Why did she say that? It seemed like a good idea.

She sits back and puts her head down and does not talk. They barely even seem to notice, and when she looks down at her hand it seems almost translucent.

She stares harder, flexes it. It looks solid. It does not fall straight through the table.

The table is as real as her hand, right? Nobody answers back.

God, what does that even _mean?_ There’s no such thing as a Nimon-

_-do not blaspheme!-_

-naturally.

* * *

_“romana, have you heard of_

_the Haunts? servants of_

_the Neverweres and_

_ghosts beyond imagination. don’t_

_fall into the time vortex_

_unless you wish to become one.”_

_she was a child. now, she is_

_scared._

* * *

The door creaks open, and she does not remember getting here. Sure, she might just have been drunk, forgetful, but then why is there no splitting headache pounding through her skull?

It’s Friday, maybe, in a sort-of, deceptive, round-about way. All muddled, no time for November.

She stands up, and stares into the mirror. Her hair blocks her face.

Maybe she should do something about that. Cut it, that is; tidy up. There are scissors somewhere in her apartment.

Romana rummages around in a drawer and finds a pair of scissors. It’s clumsy. Uneven. She hacks off all her hair, at least the long bits, until it goes no further than her shoulders.

It’s a relief, until she realises some of her hair-

Passed straight through the scissors.

* * *

_there’s something, something_

_else there. lingering in_

_her peripheral vision; quiet_

_and lurking_

_and never, ever_

_gone._

* * *

She does not know what is happening, only that nothing is properly solid and the passage of time is going all wrong. Yesterday was Friday but she doesn’t remember it and the calendar says it’s Tuesday. _Don't trust anyone,_ something whispers, a voice in the back of her mind with a grip like ice. It stings, it stings, crashing through her with no business being here.

She leans against the wall but misjudges, and slips to the ground with a cry. How did that happen? Did she overshoot it? Romana's vision blurs and when it clears she's still confused, still has no answer.

Her questions should be burning but something suppresses them and she cannot for the ~~lives~~ life of her care.

Maybe she should start keeping a diary.

* * *

_cold,_

_that's it,_

_cold. no time for chaos_

_but pandemonium can stay_

_'cause this_

_is where demons live._

* * *

Someone climbs through the window (was there ever a window there?), uninvited. He's far from charming.

“Have you been stuck here a while?” the stranger asks. “No,” she snaps back immediately, not pausing to wonder what he means. “Oh, that’s a shame. Humans, they don’t get out much, do they?”

“What do you mean, _humans?_ ” “Oh come on, Romana, even in your pathetic little fobwatched self you should know that you, you’re different, you’re _better_ than them. Humans, they’re not the only sentient life on this planet.”

* * *

_you know you're different_

_so you beg for_

_the cold and easy silence of_

_death,_

_death,_

_death._

* * *

”I...” He said _humans._ As if he wasn’t one and as if that were the most normal thing in the universe, not an Earth-shattering life-changing _surely_ impossible statement. The sheer banality of the fact hits her, hard.

The stranger laughs, jumping onto her desk. “Ever thought about yourself? Doesn’t it all seem a little odd?”(edited)

Maybe. She blinks, trying not to look, because it can’t be can’tbecan’tbe _can’tbe!_ “Stuck here on Earth, _in England._ I’m surprised you haven’t left already.” “I do have a job, you know.” “But do you? Actually, now that I think about it, I should probably pay my rent. You get stuck living through the 1940s, you start to lose track of what’s modern and what’s not even real.”(edited)

“Well, as a matter of fact-” “Look, just get on with it and open your stupid metal thingy, er, what’s it called again?” “Do you mean my _fobwatch?_ ” “Oh yes, that’s the one! Sorry, been through the 70s one too many times to have a working memory. This one time, I got stuck in London! In the 80s! No, that’s the wrong one - ah, just drop it.”

So she does.

* * *

_give._

_up._

* * *

"What am I?" she asks, and the stranger laughs.

"Far from lonely, former President."

"What? I..."

"Aw, you don't _understand?_ Of course you don't, you always were pathetic."

He snickers and exits the room. "Oh, and by the way, Romana? For a ghost, you were _excellent_ company."

She frowns, confused. 

"You're a Haunt. Thrown into the Time Vortex, left long enough you withered to but a soul. You found your way... to Earth. How charming. The exact kind of trash you love. Say goodbye!"

_Goodbye,_ she thinks, and when the table turns to nothing she takes a deep breath for a body that doesn't need air anymore.


End file.
